I'm not really a cowboy kind of gal.
Neither the films of John Wayne nor the books of Louis L'Amour do much for me. Ask me the difference between a lasso and a lariat, and I'll have to check my dictionary.
So, when I tell you that if -- when -- you visit Oklahoma City, you absolutely, positively, must get yourself to the National Cowboy Museum, you'll know that this is one seriously cool place. The size of a football field, the museum greets hundreds of thousands of visitors each year with galleries specializing in the rodeo, art and sculpture, history, cowboy clothing and equipment, and music. There's even a library of barbed wire styles.
It's a spectacular and comprehensive museum, yet there's one thing missing.
In the great tradition of cowboy storytellers, I'd love to spin a yarn about this amazing condiment, how it was invented by accident, when stampeding buffalo kicked over bottles of ketchup, mustard and barbecue sauce, and all happened to land in the same pot of beans cooking slowly over a campfire.